[OOC:Has Hans regained conciousness or am I still dragging him in my jaws?]

Logged

“I'm yet another resource-consuming kid in an overpopulated planet, raised to an alarming extent by Hollywood and Madison Avenue, poised with my cynical and alienated peers to take over the world when you're old and weak.” -Bill Watterson

[OOC: Hans is stirring on the edge of awareness, though Solstra is still dragging him in her jaws]

The very streets shook as the giant dogs burst from the gates, entering the city at full speed. The cobblestones on the streets shattered where the giant stone paws smashed into the ground. Hard weather; rain and strong winds had washed away most of their features, but it mattered little for they looked truly ferocious as they charged down the narrow streets missing Flare by scant inches before they connected with the trio of assassins that had charged him. The unfortunate individuals were violently flung in separate directions, one even hitting the corner of a wall with his neck first; resulting in the sickening crackle of torn flesh and broken bones. Another assassin was flung from the first beast only to end up as a bloody pulp beneath the paws of the second monstroity.

Then a soft whimpering wail arose from the second floor of the jewellers shop. Looking up Sharee and Hunthar noticed a shadowy figure peering out from an open window. The wail turned into a garbled murmur and then Sharee could sense it: Magic, and of the darkest kind.

The assassins withdrew from the ghost doll, their faces revealing fear and respect. With the coming of the dogs they hesitated, then stumbled, turned and ran. Within a few seconds all the assassins at street level had begun their flight, yet the ones on the roofs remained, raining swarms of death down upon the mercenaries.

Hunthar sidestepped an attack from a dark mercenary, removing his head with one clean strike, which prompted a hail of arrows from the rooftop assassins who now had a clear shot at their adversary. Combat senses at their peak, he turned to face an approaching assassin, but didn't get the chance to, for the assassin's face had already been shredded by the illustrious Sharee. No time was left for pleasantries however, for both sighted a dark figure within an upper window of the Jeweler's Shop, and arrows were still raining like a thunderstorm upon them both. Hunthar motioned for them both to enter the Shop, but before either he or Sharee could move, he was struck in the leg with an arrow, right through his left achilles tendon, and the company's sword-mage left out a cry of pain.

Pain, pain in a place where already pain overflowed from a mystic tattoo, pain that shattered all knowledge and intelligence. A purely primal growl came forth from Hunthar's lips, and the tattoo of a ghostly figure on his left arm began to glow a spectral blue, shining through the sleeve of his coat. The air around him chilled to an sub-artic level as his body and clothing shifted to match colors with that of the Spectre tattoo, Sharee close enough to feel the shift in temperature.

The ghostly shape of Hunthar became airborne, the arrow lodged in his ankle having passed through the instant he became ethereal. Wisely, or perhaps not so, the arrows being fired at the pair were now directed solely at the floating spectre, who was now level with the top of the Jewelry Shop. Maddened beyond all thought save rage, the nearest archer was grabbed by the neck, wisps of insubstantial life-force floating around Hunthar's ghostly hand as it was drained from the luckless soul. Releasing his hold on the lifeless corpse, Hunthar looked around for his next victim, intent on satisfying the rage burning within his gut.

Sorcerer against sorcerer be pitted? So be it."Huntharr. Hurrry"... it was necessary to finish as many of the foes pestering us, to get... to the core. Where the real challenge awaited, the true foe, the cause.Whoever had murdered so many of our brethren was sure to be there, like on a platter.The facade of the houses was as easy to climb as level ground, I pulled an archer out of the window and stood before the mage or whatever it was - a thing dead yet moving, malicious beyond mortal ken, eyes but orbs of putrid light, wicked as a torturer's grin.

And, it brimmed with power.

Tendrils of dark energy seeped from it, writhing snakes of ethereal death, and it seemed content that I did not flee.

"Two can play this game" I murred, and leapt sideways, and those deadly vines followed me. Then one lashed out, struck my arm, and it went cold. The thing clatterd its spectral teeth with glee, feeding on my strength, and hastily I withdrew.It murmured with the voices of bygone days, like it had a dozen maddened throats, and those ravenous tendrils of sorcery followed me again.

But as they struck, so I twisted their deathly energy a little, to divert them but an inch, and they buried their unreal jaws in the floor's stone.Again it struck, but only stone's essence it sucked. And once more.Furious as it was, little did it notice that by dining on the stone, it solid became. One punch later, which it did not see necessary to dodge, it shatterd on the ground in a thousand pieces.

But it was a mere minion, meant to harry and wear us out.

Even now, I did not know how long the change would last, but I already felt the greatest surge of energy fading...

"Do not foster reason, feed the fury, fan the flames" I muttered to myself when an assassin slashed me and I slashed him - I walked away, he did not. "Foster the fury..."

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

"Noooooooooooooo" the Keldon Witch whimpered as Dietrich put her down, her hands still bound. The cold mountain winds blew through the streets as he drew his Zweihander Greatsword, steadied his legs and then slowly advanced towards the tattoed tribal. "Dietrich..." the woman said once more, but he did not answer.

Without a single word the dark, long haired mercenary charged, his blade but a silvery shadow through the air. "NOOOOO!" the Witch screamed in earnest now, desperation evident in her voice. Dietrich had heard that particular tone of voice before, for when after armies fought, victory belonged to one side. Then it was the peasants' turn to suffer. The scream of the witch... It was in the same tone of voice as that of the womenfolk... when the soldiers toyed with them after having murdered their families...

The blade did not connect as Dietrich had believed, rather it passed through the barbarian, making Dietrich lose his balance for a split second. The barbarian vanished and Dietrich dazedly turned to the witch once more, only to find her lifted by the roots of her hair by the same tattoed tribal he had tried to cleave a second ago. Tears were running down her cheeks, and that dismal, almost inhuman voice echoed through his mind again: "You are not the only ones with cheap tricks..."Dietrich replied with a primal scream of fury, charging the tribal mindlessly. The thug deftly sidestepped, in the process tapping the right temple of Dietrich. His left hand index and middle finger connected softly with his skin. "...But unlike you and your friends I do not rely on vulgar displays of power. No... It is not my way. I am a creature of finesse and experience, and from what I have seen of you and your friends, that means you are in over your necks..." the world around Dietrich turned dark as the voice spoke, an icy cold spreading from his temple through his body. Soon there was naught.

*****************************

Solstara had dragged Hans by her jaws, pulling him into relative safety when suddenly an arrow connected with her shoulder, piercing her hide and continuing straight through her flesh reappearing on the other side. She let out a howl of pain, truly the sound of an hurt animal. Looking around she noticed Roack hiding in a corner, his pale visage full of fear and doubt.

******************************

As the two animated guardian dogs thundered down the street, crushing the fleeing assassins into bloody pools of torn pulp, Sharee noticed something in front of her. It was another deadling... A small boy by the look of him. There were tears running down his spectral cheeks and he opened his mouth, trying to say something. "...Not your enemies... ...to help you, Master" his voice was frail and far away, but his arm was clear enough and it pointed at Sharee, or rather at something behind Sharee.

There was a moment of silence, a moment of dark oppression wherein time seemed to stand still. Sharee tried to turn around, but time seemed suspended. Then someone spoke. "Thank you for your help, were-thing" the voice said, a hint of sarcasm and mockery in it. "For that undead thing proved most challenging. Your arrival could not have been any more opportune!" the voice was decidedly male, but there was a smell to it, a stench of corruption and depravity. Turning around, Sharee noticed a somewhat young man in tattered black robes, standing out in stark contrast to the gaudy red and gold interior of the jewellery shop. "Let me introduce myself. I am Marcus El-Keddath, and you I believe are with the ones I hired to defend me".

*******************************

The streets emptied as the dogs thundered past Domunsoka. The assassins on the rooftops were in full flight now, escaping the spectral apparition that had ascended to their lofty perch. The ghost doll looked down and saw that it stood in a pool of blood which had completely replaced the thin layer of snow beneath his feet. For a moment the blood seemed unearthly beautiful as it was contrasted against the pure white snow.

*******************************

Something was wrong. The rage did not subside, instead it increased multifold and through eyes clouded by a red haze of hatred and rage Hunthar noticed some dark residue from the soul he had snuffed out. The darkness had connected with his fingers and was now slowly spreading out, claiming his fingers inch by inch.

The spectre growled again, shaking his hand to try and get rid of the dark residue that was slowly creeping it's way up his arm. With an angered cry, he attacked the other two archers upon the roof. Mindless rage convinced him that their deaths would stop the obvious attack upon him.

Flare sat, catching his breath against the edge of the fountain within this strangely colorful garden. He gripped his spear-haft with white knuckles. Seeing one of his companions turn into a wolf, and another dragging himself down the street with an arrow clean through his leg was a bit unnerving. He reached into his coat and pulled out another explosive potion, ready to toss it if necessary. He got to his feet, crouching low to the ground. He twisted his shoulders in discomfort, his back tattoo feeling itchy and crawly.

He crept out of the wondrous garden, quickly making his way toward his fellows, keeping his eyes moving from side to side, watching for another ambush....

When I realized that the spectre I so deftly have smitten was an ally, or rather an enemy of an enemy, I wanted to slap myself - so what. How could I have told one force of darkness from the other... which manifested itself in the presence of his Lordship El-Keddath. His arrogance and coldness swapped over me like a tide of filth.

I stood firm. Let him see weakness, and he will strike, like any predator. With cold reason, the fury ebbed away further, fur receding, my visage more elfin again, still bearing the marks of the beast that lurked benneath the surface though.

"Glad to be of service" I smirked, giving him half a smile, tossing my intrepid locks out of my face. "At last we found you. With our employer gone, I was wondering about who would give me my pay."

Darkness, a light tickled the border of his mind. Dietrich groaned, he was alive. He felt waves of pain sear trough his body as he tried to move. He fought to stay awake, trying not to welcome the oblivion which so sweetly tried to make him sleep. He rolled over and opened his eyes, even they hurt and his vision was unfocused. But there, tied to one of the poles around the square was mother. She was full of needles which the barbarian punched into her skin, one by one. Her tears were red with blood. "Mother" Dietrich whispered softly, his hand fumbling with something. It was his sword. He arose hastily, stumbled and fell. The barbarian seemed to busy to notice the noice. Even more angered by his own carelesness Dietrich roared a challenge, his feet now firmly planted on the ground. He had only one goal, one objective. Save mother.

The archers fled before Hunthar, their eyes full of fear. They ran across the rooftops, jumping from building to building with supernatural agility. Their torn dark cloaks were battered by the strong wind and the snow on the slippery roofs was unsettled by their nimble feets, but still Hunthar gained on them, his mind clouded by an insane rage.

******************************

Mesmerized by the blood and snow, Domunsoka nearly missed the screams from the other side of town. But as he stood there trying to capture the snow crystals that fell from the sky, the raw desperate emotion within the voice of the Keldon witch caught his attention and long dormant memories awoke.

It was summer and the coastline had been particularily bountiful that month, yielding double the normal harvest of clams. Mom was singing and brushing her hands through my auburn hair as we made our way home from the beach. That always made me relax and I think I loved her even more for it. I clung to her hand wanting to get up and hug her, but she laughed and said if I did that she would lose the clams that we had worked so hard to get. That wouldn't do, I knew that and so we walked on, hand in hand, jumping and singing.

I love you mommy!

I love you too Ersthal! More than you will ever know!

I did not know the men that entered the path in front of us, but mother seemed to know them. She said hello, wondered how things went back home. They talked for a while and then one tried to kiss mommy, but mommy said no and got angry. They laughed and kissed her anyhow, making her drop the clams that we spent the entire day diving for. It made me so angry... I ran at them but they knocked me down, making the world spin for a while. The men carried mommy with them, into the forest, and I ran after, but I could not catch up. So I gathered the clams and crying I pulled the bucket all the way back to the village. When I came back my uncle ran to me and they wiped away the blood on my face.

My uncle led the hunters that night. They wore paint and carried spears and they told me not to worry. And they got mother back, but she was changed. That entire night she screamed and cried, and she would not be comforted.

I love you mommy!

**************************************

The tattoed barbarian pushed the final needle through the skin of the naked witch when suddenly there was a cry of challenge behind him. Turning around he noticed that the muscular swordsman had risen again. For a moment he could not hide his surprise and his jaw dropped a little, but then he regained his composure and looked directly at Dietrich. "I am Turedon of the Urshenk" he spoke, the words coming from between his lips this time. Then he abruptly looked skywards and a shrill cry issued from him. Dietrich had heard those before down in the forest and instantly recognized it as the war cry of the Urshenk.

Turedon began running towards Dietrich, his spear in both hands, pointing directly towards the grim mercenary.

**************************************

Hans gained consciousness as Flare approached the hurt trio. Roack was studying his wounded leg and the werewolf that was Solstara pulled out the arrow in her shoulder, the wound quickly closing as her supernatural werewolf body healed itself. "Quick!" Hans groaned. "The others need you and the Captain will arrive on the other side soon now. Go to his aid and protect that ring. Quick! Go!"

**************************************

Sharee looked upon Marcus and noticed that he looked younger than she had anticipated. Yet somehow he had a worn expression and his eyes were sunken, making him look haggard and exhausted. He merely chuckled at her, then he threw a golden sovereign on the floor. "There is more in it for you, if you are willing to do me a favour".

[OOC: The rest of this conversation between Sharee will be through pm. Sharee will reenter the game when the conversation is finished. Echo: Send me a pm with your reply]

With a sudden and bizarre change, there is a clap of thunder. The clouds seem to tear out portions of themselves, releasing gigantic flurries of snow and freezing rain which crash to the ground. Domunsoka whips it's tongue through the air and raises it's strange claws to the skies.There is a circle of stone dogs, ornately carved and with flashing eyes, that are seated politely around the ghost doll like students.With a wide gesture, the wood-flesh creature bids them rise. One by one, they bow to it, and with a flash, they are gone, an escort for each member of the expedition.

Dietrich circled the barbarian, he could rush him and try to upset his retreat. Swing his sword from behind and surprise him. Dietrich pondered on how to advance, keeping his eyes on his advesary at all times. Sweat burned his eyes, his body hurt. A map of pain he thought grimly. Scars crossing each other, telling tales of battles by-gone. He ignored all his previous tactics and went for it. Directly towards the barbarian with his sword raised, seeking to cleave him in two.

It was so sudden - a moment ago, he stood there, a lord full of pride, now he lay there broken, a mangled flesh-doll; I had not moved a hand."Wow. I can wish people dead" I whispered to myself.

This was anticlimactic. Marcus lay dead there, whatever consumed him still boiling inside, bubbling, wanting to burst forth, to taint, despoil, consume.There was little I could do there, except...

"Marcus El-Keddath, scholar and fool, noble and betrayer, lover and Tormentor of Solstra, bread-giver and life-taker of my brethren, hear mercy, and follow, even if only your soul may, body too frail; find redeption in vengeance against your slaver, speak of what ails him, what s his doom!"

I threw him a mystic rope, a link of aether, a last chance for his soul to follow. The earth shook and dust spewed forth from the walls as the colossal stone hounds strode by. I leapt out of the window, landing behind Hunthar.

"Move, mister smith, move... there is little time to lose..."

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Roack watched in horrified fascination as the City's guards bound through the gate, the blood of assasins staining their stone paws. his eyes moved away from them, averting their gaze for his sake, while fear drove his legs deeper into the city. His eyes wandered, too, calmer than the rest of his body, to them, the city was an art gallery, something beautiful and alien. To his body it was a living hell. His legs buckling under the weight of his fear. Where was he? Not home. That was all that mattered.

The wolf growled, still tormented by the all too recent agony it had endured. Its natural caution was begining to resemble fear too closely as its instincts warned it to flee this place as fast as possible. The primitive mind of the wolf was.. unsettled. It did not smell right, this place. There was a powerful scent of danger about it, akin to the scent of smoke carried on the furious breezes generated by a raging forest fire. Whatever had attacked them so far, there was a lot more of it destined to come their way very soon, the shape-shifted Solstra knew.

But the pack was the pack. The alpha-male was giving her and the other two legged pack-brother orders, instructing them to set a watch over a valuble quarry. It would not do to let the prey escape.

Forcing aside its hesitation, the wolf begin to lope on its swift legs, intent on securing the prize that the pack so coveted. If this went well, the pack's future existence would not be in doubt, at least for now.

« Last Edit: June 18, 2006, 05:45:27 AM by Maggot »

Logged

“I'm yet another resource-consuming kid in an overpopulated planet, raised to an alarming extent by Hollywood and Madison Avenue, poised with my cynical and alienated peers to take over the world when you're old and weak.” -Bill Watterson

Through the haze of murder and encroaching darkness, there was still a distant light somewhere, someplace. But he could not find it, and nothing he did could drown the screams that pierced his mind. Then she stood there, fair and tall, her hair akin to flaming darkness, beckoning him, urging for him to come.

There was moisture on his cheeks. Blood? No, Tears. He remembered those, yet he did not understand what they meant. All he could feel was the rage, the screams in his mind and the darkness that now possessed all. And as the hunter stalked his prey, fear in its eyes, he felt the distant light dwindle and disappear.

Then a rage unlike any he had ever felt before consumed him, and the hunter felt complete.

No. Not complete. I am undone. I am undone. Forgive me my brethren!

The light was no more.

***********************************

Flare escorted Roack and Solstara, running down the road, dodging pools of blood and goo. There was a clap of thunder and suddenly the ghost doll appeared four dogs in quick pursuit.

For a few minutes they ran, the houses passing by like fleet shadows from the past. Somehow it all felt like a dream, a very strange dream and they were not quite sure they liked it. Small, black clad men harassed their journey, but the stone dogs took the forefront and they were flung aside when the massive dogs collided with the would-be attackers.

The journey ended as abruptly as it had begun, the mercenaries halting at a small square. Dietrich lay there, lifeless in a pool of blood. His eyes wide and bulging, his dark hair matted with blood. The swordsman had never been pretty, but there was something profane in his final posture. It was as if death had come surprisingly, yet his opponent showed clear marks of Dietrich’s blade. That very blade was now broken, having impacted with the skull of a tattooed tribal that now lay cleaved beside the once proud swordsman. Strangely enough Dietrich bore no signs of any wounds, yet he seemed to have blood all over.

At the middle of the square stood a young woman, her hair wild and ruffled, her eyes looking strangely wise. There was something about that woman, something the mercenaries could not quite place. Yet when she spoke, she spoke but a single word. And her voice was pure, her tone soft and inviting.

"Ah'twhan"

And the mercenaries dropped their unsheated weapons and they threw themselves prostate at the ground, for they were in the presence of the one, the Mater Domino.

********************************

Sharee did not wait for her spell to bear fruit, rather she jumped onto the windowsill, grabbing a nearby statue of an angelic boy with ram horns, using it to propel herself onto the roof. Her motions were fluid and she landed behind Huntar. The smith was choking two assassins, one with each of his hands. Yet the assassins were covered with frost and their eyes were bulging, their lips stiff and pale from the lack of blood. He just stood there, growling and shaking the corpses, when he suddenly turned to face his friend, Sharee.

For a moment Sharee felt as if there was some kind of recognition, but the moment quickly faded and the smith issued a growl, his mouth foaming. Then she noticed something strange in the corner of her eye. From behind and beneath her a black stream of smoke rolled, maddened whispers moaning her name, invisible claws tearing at her hair.

Then Hunthar lunged at her, his arms outstretched, murder in his eyes.

*************************

She was gone. Mother was gone. Flare noticed he had been crying, his lips kissing her feet as she carefully trod past, his fingers fumbling for a touch of her skin. And now she was gone, and the emptiness inside was too much to bear.

*************************

Roack had flung himself prostrate alongside his friends, but it was more on intuition than anything else. For some strange minutes his friends had been whining and moaning, sounding more like growling, scared puppies than soldiers. Roack had played along and for some odd reason he felt an utter fealing of dread as a young woman stepped over him. For a couple of seconds he was sure she was going to kill him, or at the very least hurt him badly, but she left and when she was gone, his friends began whimpering for several seconds. Then, finally, they came to their senses, seeming more like their old selves.

She had said something... A word. Roack scanned his memory, but he could not remember what the word was and when confronted his friends just said that, no, they hadn't heard a single word. They had experienced salvation, and that was more than words could express.

The wolf Solstra unleashes an eerie wail, somewhere between a wolf's howl of grief and a woman's shriek of rage. The wolf mourns, but the womn rages, furious at being toyed with by the mysterious force.

Logged

“I'm yet another resource-consuming kid in an overpopulated planet, raised to an alarming extent by Hollywood and Madison Avenue, poised with my cynical and alienated peers to take over the world when you're old and weak.” -Bill Watterson

Wolves. Dogs. Possessed ex-comrades."Sorry that I can't chat" I said to Hunthar, and, some fancy footwork later, slid the drain pipe down from the roof, marginally missing a gargoyle. "Sorry too."One story above street level I heard a cracking sound from above, folloved by the whining of aged metal giving away. The drain.Cursing, I leapt down to the pavement on all fours, and, still dazed, rolled sideways, the corroded pipes exploding into a cloud of rust next to me.

Coughing, I made my way to the central plaza. Whoever was behind this, he was in for a good beating.

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

The dark haze drifted past Sharee as she climbed off the roof, beginning her slide down the drain pipe. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard "Thank you" whispered as the cloud wifted past. Hunthar was stopped short in his tracks, cold dark hands materializing from the cloud, grappling him and bringing him down.

As Sharee hit the ground she thought she heard a feral howl a split second before the pipe came crashing down.

********************************'

There was an eerie silence at the central plaza as the disoriented mercenaries shook their heads, trying to make sense of it all. The young woman had disappeared and an odd longing had taken root in their hearts. The wind howled as if in response to their unnatural longing, and from the mysterious garden came a gust of wind bearing fallen leaves. Among those leaves a lone woman ran, the witch Sharee, her coughing and cursing echoing through the streets.

[OOC: Time for some proactive action guys. It is now up to your characters to do something, anything, to push the story onwards. If the group should prove halting do not hesitate to act on your own with your character. The bonuses will soon be handed out and active characters, such as Sharee, will get a handsome bonus.]

[OOC: There is a post on the previous page. That post should be read before this one]

First there were the faint whispers, softly echoing through the plaza like the soft beating of butterflies' wings. Then the sound grew stronger and stronger and motes of light appeared in the windows of the city. The murmur of voices intensified and finally apparitions faded into view, circling the mercenaries, chanting names.

Not our names, yet ours nonetheless

"Hail thee Tyverne, master of the Sciomancers'!" the crowd was chanting, all hands raised towards Solstara, the mutilated slave where she stood in all majestic glory. She was still in lupine form, her fur standing out around her neck, but now she was calming down and her bloodthirst was diminishing.

"Hail thee F'Kharn, Guardian of the Night Gates!" the crow continued, their hands this time touching Domunsoka, the spectral fingers piercing the woodwork, touching the spirit within.

"F'Kharn, F'Kharn, we have missed you so!" the voice belonged to a little girl, no older than seven years old and when Domunsoka laid eyes upon her, his eyes would have filled with tears had he been able to cry. Visions of the little girl hacked apart by unseen soldiers then played before his eyes, and for a second he shivered uncontrollably. The girl spectre clung to his wooden frame, showing unabated affection and love the way only children can.

The voices reached a crescendo, all dropping to their knees, touching the hair and shoulders of Sharee. Tears appeared in their eyes and the chant was nearly becoming a roar. "Kandarein, Kandarein, first born son of the city. First sacrificed, first mourned. Kandarein have pity on our souls, for we have failed our duty!" the voices of the spectres were filled with melancholy, and Sharee noticed a woman rising from their midst.

Lucerne

For a moment Sharee's heart stilled, remembering the love of a wife she never had.

Lucerne, my love, my wife, my long dead friend. How I love you still, through time, through death and here we are; spectre and created, husband and wife

Sharee dropped to her knees, still coughing but also crying as tears born of alien memories ran down her cheek.

A silence of sorts descended on the assembly of ghosts and created, and for a moment there was silence. Then the spectral faces looked upon Flare and their eyes were cast down in respect and awe.

"Ichraek of the Broken Flame. We honour your wov, your dedication to our cause. We honour you for your valour and your sacrifice. Never has an enemy of our people done something like you have done, and even though your reason was not love for us, you still serve. We can do naught but feel humbled in your presence".

Flare stood still as alien thoughts rolled through his head. Was it worth the sacrifice?

Then the voices stopped as Hans Sternflucht halted into the square. "Gregal the Twice Imprisoned. Master of the Watch, the Unseen. We salute you!" their voices were genuine and Hans could not help but feel somewhat embarrassed.

Had this been but a week ago I would have fled for my life, now this scene seems... Expected. How things have changed

**********************

Roack skulked in a corner by himself. He received no attention, though the spectres did seem to acknowledge his presence. They parted as he walked among them and some even offered a polite nod as he passed them by, but this was all so strange.

It feels like walking through an alien dream. Only I am the dream. I am the one who is alien

The gusts of wind intensified and an unearthly howl resounded from the other side of the city. Roack lifted his gaze and noticed a tall spire rising above the rest of the town. There was a single light at the top of the tower and somehow he knew that to be significant. He also knew that the voice had come from that tower.

Oh, Mother. What have I gotten myself into

**********************************************[OOC: The note from last post still counts. We have entered a part of the game wherein proactive gaming is essential for story progress. This is where YOU guys push the story onwards. You will gain no more help from me until the start of chapter 2]

His vision cleared and Flare shook his head trying to clear out the cobwebs. What the hell? This is getting much too complicated and confusing. Perhaps I can enlist some help....

He looked around at the plaza he stands in with his companions and shakes his head again. This isn't the right place. "I'm going to attempt a ritual to get us some advice. Anyone who wants is welcome to come with me, but I must ask that you stay quiet while I perform the ritual. He turned without waiting for any replies and left the plaza, remembering the mysterious garden he'd taken shelter in before. He walked back, somewhat creeped out by the silence of the city around him. It was strange, after all the action and excitement.

He tightened his grip on the haft of his spear as he entered the garden. The deep green vines and strange flowering plants calmed him somewhat and it helped to put his mind at ease. He stepped into a bed of plants and dirt, turning his spear to place the point on the ground.

Ignoring anyone who may have followed him, Flare threw himself entirely into his ritual. The spear was passed over the dirt and plants were pushed out of the way. Soon, an extremely intricate circular design was drawn into the soil and with a final stroke, Flare laid his spear to the side and stepped into the center of the large design. He laid back and closed his eyes, willing his breathing to slow and his mind to quiet. After a few moments, he drifted into a silent slumber, living within his dreams to contact his ancestors for guidance.

Lucerne... fellings foreign filled my heard, mingled with my memories of Clarond, back from the misty days of my youth. For the first time in ... don't know how long ... my hands trembled as I reached for her half-translucent form.

"What has happened, praytell, why...?" I gestured around the derelict town... "Why, everybody?" I held her, and she was solid enough for me.

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Roack watched as Flare left for the garden, suddenly devoid of his shelter. He crawled closer to the rest of the group, but not to close. His lips moved strangely, cautiously bearing the words on his tongue."I do not like this place."

Domunsoka hissed, and rose slowly to it's feet. Half-memories and strange thoughts clung to it, like mist to a stone in the forest.It began to speak."I am F'kharn... I am not F'kharn," it said, haltingly, in a raspy snarl. "I am not F'kharn."